


The Cost of Execution

by FrazzledDragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Burned at the stake, Character death is not permanent, Death, Forehead Kisses, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, I Made Myself Cry, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Resurrection, Soulmates, all the ships but merthur are implied/hinted at, death by fire, magic reveal kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 16:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrazzledDragon/pseuds/FrazzledDragon
Summary: Uther has discovered Merlin has magic.Arthur doesn't care, he just doesn't want Merlin to die.





	The Cost of Execution

Arthur races ahead of the swarms of knights, hurtling to where he instinctively knows Merlin will be. He has to warn him, has to get him out of Camelot, has to protect him. He explodes into the Physician’s Quarters, sprints into Merlin’s room, where his servant is calmly organizing his possessions.

Arthur’s heart is pounding so hard, he almost can’t process what he was seeing. “Merlin, you have to leave! Now!” There’s no room for argument in his voice, no time even if there was.

“No.” Merlin’s voice is calm, so calm. It almost makes Arthur angry.

“My  _ father _ is going to have you  _ executed _ !” Arthur shouts, probably louder than he should, but he can’t help it. Does Merlin  _ want _ to die?

“I’m a sorcerer, Arthur. I have magic. It  _ is _ the law.”

“ _ And? _ ” he exclaims, his patience worn very thin already. He had spent the last hour arguing with his father, trying to reverse the sentence, or even delay the punishment, but he had had no luck. “So what? That doesn’t mean you deserve to die. Especially when you can still escape. When have you  _ ever _ followed the law?”

Merlin looks up with a glowing smile, and Arthur forgets how to breathe for a second. “You… You don’t mind?”

Arthur blinks in confusion. “I don’t mind what?”

“That I have magic.”

Arthur waves his arms, as though trying to shoo the thought away. “Of course not. You’re Merlin. Who cares if you have magic, you’re still Merlin. You’re clumsy, idiotic, brave, and kind. If you have magic, your magic is all those things too. Besides, you lied to keep yourself safe. Uther, of all people, should understand that. Why you didn’t tell  _ me _ , I’m sure, has an excellent excuse prepared, but right now that literally doesn’t matter at all. You  _ have _ to get out of Camelot as quickly as possible. I’ll get you past the castle walls, and any supplies you need are yours.”

But Merlin is still smiling that beautiful smile, and Arthur can’t help but soak it in for just one more moment. “You… can’t know what that means to me, Arthur. You can’t. It makes me happier than you could possibly ever imagine.”

“Merlin! Focus! Execution imminent!” Arthur really doesn’t understand where the holdup is. Whether or not his room is tidy will matter little if he’s burned at the stake.

Merlin sombers now, his eyes falling to his lap. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Merlin. Execution means  _ death _ . You can’t just decide you’re not in the mood. If you’re caught, you  _ will _ be killed. I’ve done everything I can to stop it, and my father is determined to see you die. If you’re caught, you’ll be dead by this time tomorrow.”

“I’ve got a plan, Arthur,” he says softly. He fidgets with the corner of his blanket, breathing easy and slow. “Do you trust me?”

Arthur blinks again. “Always.” The answer is easy and slips off his tongue effortlessly. Normally, he’d make some joke about trusting a fool, but here and now is not the time for such pleasantries. “Does your plan involve running and hiding away in Mercia or Cenred’s kingdom or finding the edge of the world or anything other than sitting here and letting yourself be caught?”

Merlin stays quiet for a long moment. “You should get out of here before they get here, Arthur. They’ll burn you too if they suspect we’re in cahoots, regardless of who you are or what you’ve done for them. I’m not sure my plan will work if there’s more than just me on the pyre.”

The thought of Merlin on a pyre period is enough to make Arthur’s stomach twist. “I can’t leave you here to die.” Tears prick his eyes, desperation sprinkled over his every breath.

“You’ll be okay, Arthur,” Merlin soothes gently. “It’ll be okay.”

Arthur has a sneaking suspicion “it” does not necessarily include Merlin, which Arthur considers to be a requirement.

“I’m not worried about me! Who gives a rat’s ass about whether or not  _ I’ll _ be okay?” Arthur cries out. He can hear the crash of armor and boots getting closer. There’s no time for arguing. They have to leave  _ now _ . “You can’t die!”

“Come see me before, Arthur. You’ll be okay. I swear it.”

Arthur tries, tears blinding him, to physically pull Merlin out, but Merlin’s eyes flash gold and his hands no longer can grip him, as though he were made of water. “Arthur, you need to leave.” A muttered word, and Arthur finds himself in the middle of a wheatfield, probably a mile outside the castle walls.

He lets out a cry, a terrible yell of outrage and fear and pain, before sprinting back to Camelot.

It’s too late by the time he gets back. Merlin is incarcerated. Arthur returns to his quarters, calling Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, Gwen, Elyan, and Gaius to help him formulate a plan. The execution is scheduled for dawn.

An hour before sunrise, they’ve come up with nothing.

Arthur hates to give up, but he can’t risk not seeing Merlin before the execution.

He makes his way to the dungeons, refusing to meet the eyes of any of the  _ many _ knights guarding Merlin’s cell. Their betrayal stings deep in his soul. He had thought their loyalty was to  _ him _ , not to his father who at best had a distant connection to a few of them. The betrayal was lessened by the knowledge that several were annoyed that none of the Round Table Knights, as they had come to be called, showed up to help scour Camelot for the sorcerer. 

Arthur isn’t sure he can handle today as it is, the idea of having to deal with the betrayal of his best friends on top of it sounds completely unbearable.

Merlin is awake, of course. Something about knowing you’re to burn alive is an excellent motivator for staying awake, and as soon as he sees Arthur, he rushes the bars. The surrounding knights jump, but Arthur stays them with one threatening hand. Maiming wouldn’t be out of the question today. Arthur walks up calmly, but his composure fails as soon as Merlin smiles at him, that warm, comforting smile, meant to reassure him and inspire hope. The one that’s just a little cheeky and mischievous, but not enough to rouse suspicion. That one Merlin smiles just for him, just when he’s feeling the weight of his destiny.

Arthur glares at the knights, shooing them away. They hesitate. “I’m not going to release him! I have no key, even if I intended to. He’s just my servant, you spineless apes.” They back away at that, though the words sting Arthur’s throat. Merlin has never been  _ just _ anything.

Finally, he walks up to the bars, resting his forehead against them, his nose mere inches from Merlin’s. He breathes in Merlin’s scent, trying not to feel like this is the last chance he’ll have.

“I’ve got a last request, Arthur,” he mumbles quietly, his voice raspy. Hadn’t they given him water? Maiming is definitely not out of the question today.

“Anything,” Arthur responds immediately, his voice no louder than a whisper.

“You can’t watch.”

Arthur’s breath catches. “What.”

“I… I want you as far from the pyre as you can get. If my plan works, you need to be free of suspicion. You can’t be present. You can’t watch. If you’re there, they might suspect you helped me. You can’t, okay? I know that’s really unfair of me to ask, especially since I’m not telling you anything more, but it’s all I ask, okay?”

Arthur takes a shaky deep breath, feeling the sunlight slip through the bars. More knights will come to retrieve Merlin any minute.

“Okay,” he breathes. He can do it. He can do it for Merlin. He’d do anything for Merlin. “Swear to me I’ll see you again. On your mother’s life.” If not being there meant Merlin would come back to him, then he’d go to the ends of the universe.

Merlin pauses. “I promise I’ll do my best.”

Arthur growls, a sob crawling up his throat. He won’t let it out. Not here, not now. Hope is not lost. Merlin isn’t dead yet. Merlin can do this. Merlin can make miracles. He  _ cannot  _ lose hope. He trusts Merlin. He has to. He wants to voice his thoughts, but he knows Merlin already knows.

“See you later, Arthur,” Merlin whispers, pushing him back away from the bars.

Arthur leaves without another word.

He snags Leon on his way to the training ground, which is on the opposite side of the castle from the pyre. He would much rather be alone, but alone doesn’t make a solid alibi, and Leon is a knight his father trusts wholly.

Leon doesn’t say a word at first, the circles under his eyes dark. “Where are we going?”

“Merlin has a plan,” Arthur manages, not looking back, no matter how bad he wants to. “He asked me to get as far away from the pyre as I could as to avoid suspicion. I need someone to corroborate my alibi.”

Leon sighs in relief and walks a little faster to catch up with Arthur. “Merlin has a plan?”

Arthur just nods, not trusting his voice to speak again. He picks up two practice swords, his mind whirring and heart racing. Is Merlin on the pyre yet? Or is he still getting dressed up for it? Will he fight the knights binding him to the pole, or will he obediently let him do their work? Has he escaped by now? When will he escape? Will he wait until Uther’s finished his speech? Will he wait until the first torch has been lit? Or will he wait until flames are licking at his bare feet before making his grand escape?

Arthur tosses a sword to Leon, before starting to swing at the dummy. There’s no style or elegance to the way he attacks it, but only pure rage and desperation. There’s nothing he can do to stop what will come, nothing he can do to change his or Merlin’s choices. That should be a consolation. It’s not, and Arthur suspects it never will be, regardless how today ends.

Leon doesn’t attack the other dummy, but stands to the side, watching the skyline for smoke. 

Seconds pass as quickly as hours, minutes whole days.

Arthur feels it as much as hears it and stops his attack immediately, turning toward the castle, toward the pyre. Screaming. The sound of someone, a man no older than him, being burned alive. Someone dying.  _ Merlin _ dying.

His whole body goes numb. His mind says only one word, over and over.  _ Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, Merlin _ . His lungs don’t expand or contract, and his heart doesn’t beat. Tears spill down his cheeks like rivers. His mouth gapes, the pain in his chest is enough to convince him he’s actually been stabbed, skewered, staked. 

He’s dying, too.

He doesn’t yell, doesn’t scream, doesn’t even move for the longest moment, even as the screams die away and the smoke floats in heavy dark clouds toward the rising sun. Leon approaches him warily, unsure of what he’ll do, as he still has a weapon in his hand.

The sound that leaves Arthur finally is one of pure grief, pure pain, pure heartbreak.

Leon’s heart hurts already, but is pierced again at that single sound. He steps closer, worried Arthur will collapse. Every man he’s ever heard make a sound like that has never been long for this world, as they are usually bearing a mortal wound. Arthur’s wound is not so physical, but Leon can see the agony in his eyes and knows it might be killing him all the same.

Then Arthur turns furiously on the dummy and attacks again, again, again with renewed rage and fear and pain.

Leon walks back to the castle to confirm what he already knows to be true.

Merlin burned to ashes, indistinguishable from all the others in the pyre.

Merlin is dead.

Gaius mourns quietly and can be seen wiping tears away for days. He has people to care for, and he can’t be seen as upset about a sorcerer being killed, regardless of his relationship with said sorcerer. It simply is not an option.

Gwen is inconsolable for almost a week, before slowly pulling herself back together, checking on Gaius and trying to force a smile back onto her face. She insists Merlin wouldn’t want her to cry, but she insists so with tears streaming from her eyes and her heart aching so much she feels it might burst out of her chest.

Lancelot cries openly and organizes Merlin’s ashes’ burial. He is also the one that drafts the letter to Merlin’s mother. He wants Arthur to read over it before it is sent. He leans on Gwen when he can’t be strong anymore. She is his shoulder to cry on.

Gwaine doesn’t leave the tavern for days. No one sees him cry, but his eyes always seem ringed with red and his voice is perpetually raspy. Percival checks in on him and pays his tab. At his worst, when he is beyond drunk and terribly depressed, he tries to kill the king.

Elyan mourns too, but is there for Gwen every waking moment of every day. He can’t think about Merlin, only Gwen. It makes him prickly to talk to, but Gwen ensures he cries too.

Leon never mourns in public, but visibly winces any time Merlin’s name is said, no matter who he’s talking to or what about. Leon finds himself helping Percival with Gwaine.

Percival finds tears running down his face unbeckoned for days, but he focuses his energy on caring for the others, especially Gwaine who is just as upset as Gwen but has much more dangerous ways of showing it. He is the one who disarms and talks Gwaine down before he can attack the king.

And Arthur?

Arthur doesn’t leave the training ground for over a week. He doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, and will only drink water if a water-skin is put in his hand. Otherwise, he spends every minute of every day attacking that same dummy, refusing to look toward the castle. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t respond. He radiates anguish. His hands are blistered and his whole body is covered in sweat. He is covered in dust, except his cheeks, where tears frequent so often that dust cannot gather. His breathing is ragged and if someone were to take his pulse, it’s fast and heavy.

He doesn’t cry. Not really. His eyes don’t stop watering, but he never releases the sobs, the pain, the grief. All who care about him try. Try to push him into crying, sure he’d go back to the Arthur they knew best if he just released this agony inside him. 

Even his father, though he doesn’t quite understand the situation, tries to talk him out of it, even going so far as to order a squadron of knights to return him to his quarters.

The entire squadron of knights is delivered to Gaius on stretchers. 

All of them were defeated with nothing more dangerous than the dull training sword that hasn’t left Arthur’s hand since that day.

Eight days after Merlin’s execution, Arthur collapses onto his knees in front of the dummy. The sword falls from his grasp. He leans his head against the post, breathing heavier than before.

Here, he cries. His whole body aches, his head pounds, and his hands sting, but he sobs, releasing every emotion he has to the heavens and hell. Merlin is _gone, _taken from him by his own father and knights, and no one and nothing is safe from Arthur’s pain. The others, whispering once out of earshot, swear they can feel his hurt from the other side of the kingdom.

Even the clouds sing their sympathies, a dark thunderstorm coming to pour down on the crown prince. Percival and Gwen try to talk Arthur into going inside, but his sobs have subsided, and he’s all but dead behind the eyes.

Ten days after, Gwaine comes alone to where Arthur continues to keep up his vigil. “Arthur?”

His voice echoes in the dead arena. Arthur doesn’t move.

Gwaine can’t walk in a straight line, but he manages to get closer. “Where were you?”

He doesn’t have to specify.

Arthur, for the first time in days, responds. “It was his dying wish.”

Gwaine startles, having not actually expected a reaction, especially not one so heavy with guilt. The question had been accusatory, and usually Arthur is the first to defend his actions. “What was?”

“He didn’t want me to watch. He wanted me as far away as I could get. It was all he asked. All he wanted. So I listened.”

Gwaine doesn’t say a word. He leaves moments later.

Arthur slumps silently against the pole once more.

Twelve days after, Leon approaches where Arthur kneels. He bears food and drink, laced with a sleeping draft. “Arthur?”

Arthur doesn’t respond. Leon gets closer.

Arthur’s breathing doesn’t change.

Leon puts a cautious hand on Arthur’s shoulder, only to watch the crown prince collapse on his side, exhaustion finally having got the better of him. Leon carries him inside and lays him in his bed.

Four hours later, Arthur wakes, and without eating or drinking or speaking to anyone, he returns to attacking the dummy.

Fourteen days after, Arthur is attacking the stump of the dummy. It had finally given way under his fierce, unrelenting attacks and broken. Arthur hadn’t bother to move to the other dummy, hadn’t even paused, before continuing his onslaught.

Dully, he registers footsteps behind him. Lighter than any of the knights. His father had told him they’d talk once he’d finished his “temper tantrum”. Probably meant Gwen. He doesn’t stop for her. Doesn’t turn to acknowledge her. Doesn’t turn for anyone anymore.

“Arthur?”

The voice makes Arthur stop cold. He raises his chin, rolling his shoulders. So this is it. He’s finally gone mad. Two weeks with only four hours of sleep has finally taken its toll. Gritting his teeth, and though his hands protest, he tightens his grip on the sword. The cheap leather groans. Whatever it is thinks he’s going to allow it to get close.

“Arthur.”

Arthur swings violently at the stump, and the footsteps stop getting closer. He will not give in to delusions. He will not break. He will wait here until Merlin returns or the Reaper itself takes him from where he stands. His friends don’t believe Merlin will come back.

It’s all he can believe. Anything else would destroy him beyond repair.

“Arthur, turn around.”

Tears prick his eyes. That damn  _ voice _ . It’s so familiar, so real it breaks Arthur’s heart all over again. He sets his shoulders again, his hands shaking. “You’re not real.” His throat is so dry that the words are almost inaudible, but he’s not saying them for the delusion. He’s reminding himself.

“Arthur, I’m real.”

A low, animalistic growl rumbles out of his throat. Now that he’s still, his knees have begun to tremble and he knows he only has so long before they betray him completely. He wants to continue his attack, but hearing that voice, even if its only in his head, is so comforting, his desperation and hope won’t let him interrupt it.

“Arthur, look at me.”

His fingers threaten to release the sword, his knees get closer to buckling, and there are so many tears in his eyes, he can hardly see.

“ _ Please _ , Arthur.”

At that, a sob tears free, ripping out of him unexpectedly. His knees buckle and his sword falls from his grasp as his shaking hands come up to cover his face. Fate seems particularly cruel right now, because it doesn’t allow Arthur to stop these terrible noises from escaping him, doesn’t allow him to protect himself from his own head.

“You’re not real,” he hisses between sobs, his heart and head pounding. “You’re not real… Why do you torture me so? I just want him back...”

“Arthur,  _ please _ , look at me. I’m real. I swear to you. I swear it on my mother’s life. I’ve returned to you, just like I promised.”

Arthur can’t fight the urge to turn much longer. His terrible heart is betraying him, though he knows it’s just his mind playing tricks. Maybe he’s asleep and this is all a dream. That would explain why everything feels so numb and nothing makes sense and why he doesn’t have control of his body.

The footsteps get closer. Arthur closes his eyes tightly, not strong enough to cover his ears. Even the wind contributes to the delusion, because a soft breeze blows against his back, and he could swear it carries just a hint of  _ his _ scent.

“Arthur… It’s Merlin… It’s…. It’s your Merlin. Please, Arthur, let me help you… I… Please. Please, look at me. I need you.” The voice has turned desperate, cracking with emotion.

Arthur can bear it no longer. He turns to face his delusion.

He hadn’t realized it was night, but the moon outlines the man standing behind him brilliantly, and for a moment, Arthur can only squint. Then, the figure steps a little closer, and his eyes focus.

For an illusion, it’s stunning. All the right creases and twinkles and shapes and colors. It looks like _him_, in fact, Arthur isn’t sure, in the right circumstances, if he’d be able to tell the difference between this phony and Merlin himself.

But Merlin is dead. So this would always be the delusion.

His heart breaks all over again, but he can’t stop looking at him. It may be the last time he ever gets to see Merlin, after all. Might as well soak him in, appreciate his appearance one last time.

Delusion-Merlin takes a step closer and kneels in front of him. Even the way he moves is accurate, though Arthur could never pinpoint exactly what makes the movement so intrinsically Merlin. His pale hand comes toward Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur braces himself for Delusion-Merlin’s hand to pass through him like he’s nothing. He wonders if this is what death feels like.

He stills to his core when Merlin’s fingertips brush his cheek. Not a single atom within him moves. Merlin’s hand moves to cup his face, and suddenly Arthur remembers to breathe, a great shuddering gasp for air.

Merlin smiles weakly, hopefully.

Arthur can’t think, can’t move, can’t form words. 

“I’m real, Arthur. I’ve come back to you. I’m back. I swore to you I would, and I have.”

Arthur feels more tears slip down his cheeks. He shouldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it. Believe  _ him _ . In a sudden burst of movement, he scrambles out of reach, his cheek starkly cold from where Merlin’s hand once rested against it.

Merlin’s face falls. “Arthur, I promise. I’m back. Please, let me help you.”

His back is against the post. He can’t move back again. “I… I can’t…”

_ Lose him again _ .

Though the words aren’t said aloud, Merlin somehow knows. “You won’t, Arthur. You can’t truly lose me.”

Arthur, his limbs protesting and everything he has shaking, crawls back toward Merlin, disbelieving. Slowly, he touches Merlin’s face, one hand at first, then two. He’s crying again, then he embraces Merlin so tightly he squeaks.

“Arthur,” Merlin purrs warmly, his own arms wrapping around Arthur tightly. “Arthur.”

“Merlin,” Arthur croaks, melting into Merlin. Saying his name again breaks something inside both of them, and they both cry, kneeling on the sand, for a long time.

Finally, they seem to gather their composure, and Merlin slips his arm around Arthur’s back. Gently, he lifts them to their feet. Wordlessly, he walks them both toward castle. Merlin takes them to Arthur’s quarters, where he sets Arthur onto the bed, magically filling the tub with hot water. He helps Arthur into the tub, leaving him to relax while he sneaks to the kitchens for food.

When he returns, Arthur is snoozing in the water, at peace for the first time in weeks. He carefully wakes him, feeding him slowly. He helps him wash, before helping him out of the tub. Only half dressed, Arthur collapses into his bed, his half-open eyes on Merlin.

There’s an unspoken request, and Merlin has always been exquisite at hearing what he doesn’t say. He slips into bed beside him.

Their hands roam. They can’t stop touching, can’t stop marvelling. They are  _ here _ .

Arthur starts crying again, only half awake. He holds Merlin close, cupping his face. Merlin melts into his embrace, his forehead resting against Arthur’s chest. Arthur is all he can sense, and he’d have it no other way.

Arthur presses his lips to Merlin’s hair, a long, slow kiss. Merlin shudders, tears pricking his eyes. He shifts closer.

They fall asleep, their legs intertwined.

The next morning, Arthur wakes slow, immediately aware of how angry his body is. It protests every breath, every heartbeat, but none of that matters when he recognizes the dark head on his chest.

_ It wasn’t a dream. _

Arthur presses another kiss Merlin’s head, then another. He wants to scream, to shout, to kneel before Merlin and pray for the rest of his life. Some deity gave Merlin back to him and he’d gladly devote the rest of his life to worshipping them. But he does none of these things, just kisses his head and murmurs sweet nothings.

Merlin wakes slowly too, his eyes finding Arthur’s and staying there. They simply look at each other for the longest time.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin rasps, his morning voice deep and rough.

“Me too,” Arthur rasps in return, though his is from his intense dehydration and starvation over the course of the past two weeks. “I’m… I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” Merlin giggles, eyes so blue and bright. “I’m… so glad to be back.”

Arthur shivers, shifting slightly to stroke Merlin’s cheek with his knuckles. “I can’t lose you again. If you ever try something so stupid again, I’ll join you in pyre, no matter what.”

Merlin shudders, his eyes darkening. “I’ll never be trying that again, so don’t worry. Being burned alive is thoroughly unpleasant.”

Arthur frowns. “How-”

Merlin shakes his head. “Not now.”

Arthur shrugs. Merlin was back. They had time.

“At what point does it become rude that I haven’t told anyone else I’m back?” Merlin asks quietly, his fingers tracing softly over Arthur’s bare chest. “My only thought was you. I… I couldn’t think about anything else.”

Arthur chuckles. He doesn’t want Merlin to leave. “Definitely soon. Honestly, they’ll probably come here if we wait long enough. I haven’t… I haven’t voluntarily left that arena since you...”

“We should  _ absolutely  _ not wait until they find us here,” Merlin interrupts, a smile in his voice. “Can you imagine what they might do to us?”

“Does that mean we have to get up?” Arthur groans. “I’ve slept four hours in the past two weeks. Surely, we can take a couple more hours for ourselves.”

Merlin sits up, stretching and reaching back to stroke Arthur’s cheekbone with his thumb. “Gwaine alone might kill us both for not telling him. Not to mention Lancelot or Gwen. We’ve got to get up. Then, later…” He winks at Arthur and slides out of the bed. “Deal?”

Arthur groans again, dramatically, though he doesn’t have to act too hard, and stiffly getting out of bed. “They’d better be grateful I’m sharing,” he growls and Merlin blushes. 

“I don’t know how they’ll react. You certainly didn’t react the way I thought you would.”

A little confused as to what the expected reaction to the best friend you’ve ever had resurrecting after being burned at the stake is, Arthur pauses in his efforts to get a shirt on. “How did you think I would react?”

“I… I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting to be gone so long, for one thing, so that would have changed some things and I wasn’t expecting you to… I don’t know… miss me that much? It sounds so bad, but… I just thought you’d… forget you lost me.”

Arthur walks over and grabs Merlin’s hands. “I don’t know what would have happened had you not come back, but it wouldn’t have been pretty, Merlin. You are…” He gives his words careful consideration. “You are the most important person in my life. I would not be me without you. I would have missed you forever. I would never have stopped wanting you back, never stopped blaming myself for your death, never stopped believing you’d come back to me if you never did.”

“You said you trusted in my plan?” Merlin jokes, trying to lighten the mood and hide the tears in his eyes.

“I said I trusted you, which I’m  _ never _ doing again, because it ended with you burning at the stake and the  _ worst  _ two weeks of my life.”

“I was gone two weeks?” His voice shows his genuine surprise, and Arthur squeezes his hands tenderly.

“Fourteen days.”

Merlin nods slowly. “Yeah, never doing that again.”

They finally get dressed, and Merlin watches Arthur move for a moment. “C’mere,” he whispers, his eyes flicking up to meet Arthur’s. Arthur comes closer, and Merlin places his hands on Arthur’s chest. A muttered word and a flash of gold, and the ache in Arthur’s body fades away. 

He sighs and smiles in relief. “Yeah. Magic is definitely not evil.”

“I could have told you that  _ years _ ago. Now, where is Gwen normally? Or Gwaine?”

Before, Arthur could have told him easily. But now, when the others were still living without Merlin? Arthur wasn’t sure. “It’s still pretty early. Maybe Gwaine is with Percival in their quarters? Gwen might be with Elyan or Lancelot.”

“Gwaine and Percival are closer, so let’s go there first.”

Arthur’s guess would prove to be right on the nose.

Gwaine is pulling his tunic over his head, sneaking a glance at Percival’s absolutely  _ shredded _ back muscles when there’s a knock on the door. He frowns. No one who would be visiting them would knock. The other knights, especially their friends would just charge in. Gwen  _ might _ knock, but if she was voluntarily visiting Gwaine and Percival on her own, the situation was usually so dire that knocking would be forgotten.

With a glance at Percival, Gwaine grabs his sword and answers the door.

On his doorstep stands Arthur Pendragon, clean and grinning. “Morning.”

Gwaine is immediately suspicious. “Morning. You’re suspiciously upbeat. And upright. Did you finally lose your marbles, Princess?”

“No, his reason for grieving just decided being dead wasn’t for him.” Gwaine’s head turns so fast his neck audibly cracks, but the grin that crawls across his face is worth it. Loud, amazed laughter fills the corridor, and soon Merlin is dwarfed in a bearhug by both Gwaine and Percival.

“Did you know?” Gwaine asks, narrowing his eyes at Arthur. “That he’d come back?”

Arthur just stares at him for a moment. “Are you implying I was faking being upset  _ for the drama _ ?” His voice is dark and foreboding.

Gwaine stares back at him, before bursting out laughing. “You’re absolutely mad!”

Arthur smiles too, and Percival pats them both on the back. “You were sorely missed by all, Merlin,” Percival’s quiet voice rumbles, like the purr of a cat. “I think it’d be best if you didn’t pull a stunt like that again.”

Merlin giggled. “I’m inclined to think you’re right. Gwaine might suffocate me in his embrace if I’m not careful.”

“Do the others know yet?” Gwaine asks, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“No?” Merlin grins back at him, and Arthur sighs deeply. He doesn’t have it in him to deny either of them their fun, but suspects this isn’t something they should take lightly. “But I’m getting waves of disapproval from Arthur already, so maybe we just tell them I’m back like normal people?”

Gwaine’s mischievous twinkle overtakes his entire being, until he’s just mischief incarnate. “Just tell them you’re back, eh? Why don’t we just hold a regular Knights of the Round Table meeting this afternoon? We can ask Gwen to attend, and Merlin will just… be there.”

Arthur shrugs. As far as Gwaine Plans™ go, this one was really not so wild. There wasn’t even any drugs or alcohol or fire involved. “That’s not so bad. But let’s hold it before lunch, so they don’t have to wait so long. You’ll have to organize it, Percival. The jig will be up if I schedule it. Merlin also needs time to go talk to Gaius, so doing it in an hour will grant him time for that as well.”

Merlin’s hand briefly slips into Arthur’s, squeezing appreciatively.

“Can do. See you both there,” Percival smiles, departing quickly. 

Gwaine gives Merlin another solid hug, gives Arthur a side hug, then departs to, if his words are to be believed, find breakfast. 

Arthur turns to Merlin. “I’m going to go hide in my room. See you in under an hour, alright? You need anything, come get me.”

Merlin smiles. “See you in an hour.”

Merlin presses open the door, listening to Gaius bustle around inside. “Hi, Gaius.”

Gaius freezes, dropping vial that was in his hand on the floor. “ _ Merlin _ ?” They remain frozen for a long moment, before as fast as he can, Gaius tackles Merlin in a tight hug. For a long while, it’s all they can do to just stay upright, both of them crying and talking over each other.

Eventually, Gaius manages to pull back, looking him over carefully. “How? I watched you die. How are you back? I’m not complaining, you understand, just baffled.”

Merlin sombers, leading Gaius over to the table to sit. “I’m… I’ve told you about the connection between Arthur and I, haven’t I? Our destinies are tied together. A while back, because I assumed we couldn’t be the first that destiny looked down upon in favor, I started looking through history for other instances of tied fates. There aren’t many, but there are a few common themes.

“In short, they are almost always soulmates, and death doesn’t always work like its supposed to. Though most of these stories are considered myths, they felt too detailed and similar to Arthur and my own stories to really be false. In most of these cases, should death happen both its ‘meant to’, whatever that means, resurrection is fairly common.

“Again, though, I knew these were fictional tales passed down through oral storytelling for centuries, and probably weren’t to be trusted with something like my life. So, I called Kilgarrah and had a little chat with him. He confirmed my theories and claims to have met the most recent pair, which is part of the reason he recognized Arthur and my connection.”

“So you decided the best way to test your theory was to test it?”

Merlin shivers. “No. It was the only way to test it. If I leave Arthur’s side for too long, if I abandon him for any reason, bad things happen. That was another theme in the old stories. Any time one soulmate decided they’d had enough, their decision was punished tenfold. I could have escaped, but I would have had to leave Camelot for many years, or at least until Uther died and that might have been enough to trigger cataclysmic events. The pros and cons of testing the resurrection theory versus escaping were too drastic a difference. If I had died and stayed dead, it’d be the equivalent of choosing the middle ground. It wouldn’t have been the shining, bright future we’re to experience together, but it wouldn’t have been the hellscape that might have followed my departure.

“What I didn’t realize is that resurrection isn’t as fine a science as the stories describe, as none of the stories are written by someone who was resurrected. In the stories, the resurrection is within the same day, usually within the same hour. I figured that’d be long enough for the crowds to disperse, then I could go find Arthur and reassure him I was okay. But, in reality, it’s not like that at all. You, or your soul, I guess, just kind of… floats in a vast emptiness. You don’t have any control of when or where you’ll come back, only a vague sense of what your soulmate will look like when you return. When I saw Arthur, I saw him as an elderly man. A tired, depressed king who had found no love or fortune. One who had seen no rest. I realized… I realized I had made a mistake… But it was far too late to take it back. I was dead and had no choice but to wait until destiny allowed me to see him again.”

Gaius frowns. “Then  _ how _ are you here?”

Merlin smiles, his eyes falling to the tabletop. “Arthur.”

His frown only deepens. “What did Arthur do? He’s done nothing but mope by in the practice arena for the past two weeks, at the serious detriment to his own health.”

“And you should be damn grateful for it,” Merlin snaps, wincing in apology at the surprise in Gaius’ gaze. “He’s the reason I’m back so soon… I was floating in space, panicking, when I felt this darkness seize the emptiness. I could feel the pain and heartbreak and self-blame. It was…  _ terrifying _ . It was  _ literally _ shaking the emptiness in rage. It took me a long time to realize that this emotion, this passion, was Arthur’s. He… He loved me so deeply, so wholly, that the afterlife was quaking from his wrath. I…  _ hated _ that I hurt him like that, but slowly, the vision of him as an elderly man began to shift. He became younger and younger, day by day, year by year. His gray hair went back to blond, his skin went smooth again, and… I saw glimpses of our friends. Eventually, it crawled all the way back to him as he is now, and it showed him swinging at the broken dummy. Then I blinked, and I was buck-ass nude in the middle of town-square, in the middle of the night. I ran here, dressed, and ran straight to Arthur. He was my every thought, every emotion. He was all I cared about.”

Gaius lets out a slow breath, looking at Merlin in astonishment. “Incredible.”

Merlin chuckles, fidgeting with a splinter off the table. “Arthur loved and believed in me enough to take close to sixty years off my resurrection. From sixty years to two weeks.  _ Arthur  _ is incredible. I was just along for the ride.”

“Does he know? That he saved you, in the end?”

“Not yet.”

“You should tell him. I’ve never seen grief like that. He should hear it from your lips, that he’s not to blame. That he did something right.”

Merlin’s smile grows soft and affectionate. “Imagine what that’ll do for his ego.” He stands, rolling his shoulders. “I’ve got to go. Gwaine wants to prank Gwen, Elyan, Leon, and Lancelot and unfortunately, Arthur is too tired to tell him that’s a terrible idea.”

Gaius smiles. “You’ll come see me later?”

Merlin nods. “Of course. I can’t be seen by basically anyone anyway, so I imagine I’ll be spending plenty of time inside, both here and with Arthur.”

“Good.”

Merlin fidgets impatiently in his seat next to Arthur. Arthur is rubbing his temples, clearly trying to dissuade a headache, so Merlin lets his eyes flash, and Arthur grins at him. “Thanks,” he mumbles, letting his hand slide into Merlin’s.

“I love you,” Merlin whispers back. The words don’t really come close to all he means and all he wants to say, but the english language had no better options.

Arthur looks up in surprise, but his face softens into a warm smile a moment later. “I love you too.”

“They’re coming!” Gwaine whisper-shouts, his eyes bright.

Gwen is the first to come into the room, and she pauses in the doorway at the sight of Arthur. Percival had made no mention of Arthur joining them, much less looking happier and cleaner than he had in weeks. Then her eyes fall on Merlin.

And she stands, stock still with her mouth gaping, as Merlin just grins. 

Lancelot comes up behind her, a comforting hand falling on her shoulder, confused. Why is the sight of Arthur doing his job so alarming? Sure, it had been two weeks since Arthur cared enough to try, but it wasn’t  _ that _ exciting. Then he sees Merlin and the smile that lights up his face is brighter than the sun. 

Leon and Elyan are next, the two chatting about something completely sensible and normal. Leon is the first to spot Arthur, already grinning, but when his eyes fall on Merlin, the smile fades. He pushes forward, past Gwen and Lancelot, who are still frozen, to Merlin’s side.

“I’m real,” Merlin says with the widest smile, offering Leon his hand.

And it’s like someone pulled the stopper on a waterfall. Where it was eerily quiet, it’s now full of noise, everyone talking and yelling at once. Where it was unnaturally still, everyone is moving, hugging and touching and embracing, crying and laughing and screaming.

Finally, it begins to die down, and Arthur clears his throat. “Now that that’s done with, we’ve got business to take care of. Somehow, some way, we’ve got to hide Merlin from my father.”

The meeting continues without a hitch, everyone more upbeat and willing to contribute. There’s a million ideas thrown around, but for the most part, the conclusion is to simply help him slink around unnoticed, as there isn’t any great ways to hide him in public without risking his second execution in a month.

Then, they all retreat to their separate areas of the kingdom. Merlin goes to Arthur’s quarters while Arthur announces to his father and the council that he’s officially ready for work again. Once again, Uther expresses his immense disapproval of Arthur’s “tantrum” and not so subtly recommends that he never pulls a ridiculous stunt like that again, should he wish to remain Uther’s heir. Arthur agrees and essentially rolls over for him, expressing how “childish” and “unnecessary” his actions were. Then, Uther suggests he spends a few days in his quarters, recovering, to which Arthur heartily agrees.

It’s less than an hour later that he returns to Merlin, who is casually conjuring butterflies and birds to fly around the room. Arthur stands, mesmerized, as they swoop and dive together in a dance Arthur will never be able to hear the music too.

“I want to tell you why and how I came back,” Merlin says, once the creatures fade away. “You deserve to know, seeing as you were the driving factor.”

Arthur looks up in surprise. “Me?”

Merlin nods, then tells the story all over again.

“ _ Me? _ ” Arthur repeats when he’s finished. “ _ I  _ made you come back?”

“Sort of. I would have come back regardless, but you grieved me into coming back earlier than I was meant to.”

“Soulmates?” Arthur’s mind is whirring, but at the same time, everything feels so  _ right _ . Of course, they’re soulmates. Of course, Merlin would resurrect for him. Of course.

“Two sides of the same coin, two halves of the same whole. Made for one another. Our every atom complements the other.” Merlin shrugs like it’s nothing, but Arthur feels like it’s everything.

“I’m glad it’s you,” Arthur says finally, because something needs said but he hasn’t the foggiest idea what it should be. He steps closer, pulling Merlin close. He kisses his forehead.

“And I’m glad it’s you,” Merlin echoes, before kissing Arthur properly, right on the lips.

A few days of recovery, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey hey once again I have no idea how to properly end things
> 
> hope ya liked it anyway :D


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